Sorrow's Son (Crossroads of Worlds Book 2)

by Rene Sears

  Rowan sighed and turned his finger-twitch glamour casting on Morgan. It was probably easier since she was wearing a big hooded cloak over her regular clothes. I shifted my weight uncomfortably. "And," he went on, more to Morgan than to me, "there are some who might try to pierce your glamours just to poke at me. I am not in the queen's favor at the moment."

  "Then we'd better find them quickly," Morgan said.

  "I can help with that," I said. "I know a finding spell..." It was one of my father's innovations, and it was a good one.

  Morgan looked at me sideways. She swept the edge of her cloak to the side and pulled down on the collar of her shirt. My cheeks burned and I looked at Rowan for help, but he only nodded back toward Morgan. The collar of her shirt stretched low enough that I could see the spreading branches of a tree tattoo. My embarrassment evaporated, to be replaced by a kind of reluctant awe. Casters who inked spells on their bodies were hardcore. There was always a chance that a spell could go wrong, and if you had it tattooed on your skin, you wouldn’t be able to get away from it. It hadn't occurred to me that Morgan might have one. She pulled the collar down a little lower, revealing two tiny acorns on the branches of the tree. Morgan laid her fingers on top of them, and closed her eyes, her head weaving back and forth like a dog looking for a scent. "They went this way." She pointed with her whole arm, and then opened her eyes to see where she had pointed.

  "Not exactly subtle," Rowan muttered. "Right toward their father's house."

  I wasn't sure how he knew that; we were in the woods, among ancient trees with twisting shadows, and all directions looked pretty much the same. There was no path, nothing but trees curving in close to each other, all shades of dappled green and brown. It could have been a forest in the real world. Rowan led us through the pathless woods, following some compass I couldn't sense, to a track that, after a while, turned into a dirt path and led us out of the woods.

  Out in the open, there was no way I could have mistaken this place for anywhere overhill. The buildings the path wound through were flowing and rounded, low to the ground and embellished with carvings or covered in flowering vines. An unfamiliar floral smell permeated the air. Rowan led us into the buildings—a town? I couldn't tell whether they were residences or businesses or what.

  Morgan and I kept our heads down and followed in Rowan's wake. We saw a few people and creatures at a distance. Some of them nodded respectfully at Rowan, but some ignored him or averted their eyes or turned onto another path so they wouldn't have to talk to him. As for me and Morgan, it was like we weren't there at all, which suited me fine.

  But one lady did approach us. Morgan tensed beside me. The lady was beautiful—they all were, except the ones who were terrifying, and even some of them were both—and she walked straight up to Rowan. "You're back," she said, and there was an urgency in her voice far greater than the words would seem to imply.

  "Briar." Rowan bowed. From behind him, I couldn't see his face, but he sounded surprised. "You weren't to risk—"

  "Never mind that now." She leaned closer. "The queen sent the new Blade overhill again—" I flinched, hopefully only internally "—but the Blade came back empty-handed. The queen scryed and the bowl told her look in your own lands and—"

  A howl split the air, distant but unmistakable. Another joined it.

  "Well," Morgan said. "I guess she's looking." Briar's eyes widened as she looked more closely at us. Morgan touched her chest. "This way," she said, and started off deeper into the buildings.

  "Run," Rowan suggested, and we all did, even Lady Briar.

  Parts of the landscape flashing by looked—wrong. A twisted tree that stood out as a spot of ugliness in all the sculpted beauty of a courtyard; a dreadful thinness to parts of the ground my feet hit with jarring thuds; disconcerting edges where some of it seemed to be missing, revealing deep holes of nothingness my eyes didn't like to look at. Before long we stopped in front of a building that didn't look all that different from any other to me. Rowan wrenched the door open, leaving it sagging against its hinges.

  The twins were inside, and they turned horrified faces toward us. Igraine looked relieved when she realized it was us.

  "He's not here," she said.

  "This is blood." Iliesa dropped to her knees beside a red-black, cracked smudge on the floor.

  "Of course it is. Do you think he went easy to his prison?" Briar turned from one to the other, skirts whirling around her ankles. "Why did you little idiots come back?"

  Igraine bristled, but Iliesa shook her head. "We wanted to help."

  "Well, you haven't—" Briar began, but then the terrible howling started up again, much closer.

  "There you are." A voice echoed hollowly behind us. I turned slowly, not wanting to see the owner of that voice. A woman stood in the doorway, long red-blond hair shining almost as brightly as the blade she carried. "I have sought you." She stepped through the doorway, and once the light no longer highlighted her from behind, her face looked round, human. And...familiar? "And I have found you."

  *

  The hounds howled again. One of them turned yellow eyes on Morgan. "I have found you," it echoed. Ropes of slaver dripped from its jaws.

  Morgan and Rowan interposed themselves between the woman and us. Morgan's face was bloodless, and the girls were no better, clutching at each other as though the world was ending. But then again, maybe it was; the Queen's Blade had been sent after them, and it seemed she had found them.

  Igraine came even with my shoulder. "...Mom...?" It was the sound of a heart breaking. Oh. I looked at the Blade again. No wonder she seemed familiar; she looked like a human version of Iliesa, only much, much meaner.

  There was a sliding, metallic sound—Rowan drawing a sword. I hadn't noticed that he was carrying one. "Run," he said over his shoulder. "I will hold her here." The wooden hilt of his sword crackled with energy and tendrils snaked along the blade, sprouting thorns along the metal edge.

  The Blade growled and raised her own sword, a bright metal crescent that cut the light. My gut curdled, and I prayed fervently that Rowan was a good fighter. Some part of me noted the strangeness of my rooting for the fae instead of the human, but most of me was just wondering if he wanted us to run, where we were supposed to run to, because the Blade was blocking the doorway.

  Rowan and the Blade circled each other.

  "No, no." Morgan sounded like she was about to cry, but her eyes were dry. She flourished her right wrist, and her silver bracelet shimmered and turned into either a very long knife or a very short sword. The air seemed to ripple and the hounds whimpered and drew away from the door—no, from the sword. The Blade just grinned crazily. "Please, Rowan, no. Don't hurt Gwen. Get the girls and Javier away."

  "She is not your sister anymore. She will kill you—she will kill them." He blocked as Gwen—Igraine and Iliesa's mother—advanced, swords clashing into each other and then breaking apart.

  Morgan held up the bracelet blade and stepped closer, her face fierce. "Get them out of here!"

  "Morgan, no—you need to—"

  The Blade rushed forward again, and this time Morgan slapped her sword away. The Blade's sword made a terrible sound as Morgan's blade hit it, and Gwen retreated a few paces. "Con, you promised," she said to Rowan.

  His sword dropped. "I did." His face contorted into a mask and he swore under his breath. He did not expect to see her again, I realized, and panic bubbled in my throat. "Morgan Tenpenny, we're not finished," he said.

  "We'll have to talk about it later." Gwen struck, and Morgan parried. The hounds behind her seemed to have regained their courage; they surged forward to the door. The yellow-eyed one dipped its head and pushed closer to the combatants.

  Rowan held out a hand to me, but spoke to Morgan. "Your word there will be a later."

  She ducked as her sister tried to remove her head and didn't answer. Rowan's hand against mine was strong, but his pulse was erratic as he pulled me toward the girls.

  They were ah
ead of us with Briar, running toward, I hoped, something besides the inside of the house. I saw a faint yellow glow against a doorframe ahead of us. Igraine held something small and glowing in her hand. Was this the way out of here? Igraine and Iliesa glanced back toward me and Rowan ran ahead of me to get to them. Briar glanced at him and ran in a different direction, away from both the yellow glow and the fight behind us.

  I was nearly there, almost level with them. The doorframe swirled and filled with silver. Rowan urged the girls through it. "Come on," he called back to me, then stepped up even with them.

  Rowan and the twins vanished in a swirl of silver. Wood crunched behind me, and the sound nipped at my heels like the dogs behind me. A hot ball of fire and teeth caught my heel and I stumbled and fell, and caught up hard against a doorframe. The hellhound that had tripped me snarled, his breath fogging the air. A low growl sent my shoulder blades rushing to meet each other. I scrambled away from the sound of metal hitting metal.

  Rowan and the twins were gone. Morgan was circling her sister, the two swords raised against each other.

  I was on my own.

  But I wasn't alone. A mass of black fur and glowing eyes padded toward me, individuals blurring in my vision into a snarling, toothy mass. The hounds had not forgotten me.

  The only weapon I had was that stupid cheap dagger I'd bought in Atlanta. I pulled it out of my pocket, and tried to hold it like I knew what I was doing.

  The lead hound growled, lips drawing away to show me its teeth. Why wasn't it attacking? Maybe it was enough for them to keep me at bay, at least until the Blade was done with Morgan. But just because they weren't attacking yet didn't mean I had to wait on them. I called up my spellsight.

  MORGAN

  Gwen!

  There was no time. My sister pressed forward, blade flashing in whatever passed for sunlight underhill.

  I staggered back, luring her away from Javier, because though Conant had gotten the girls away, Javier hadn't made it through, and the hellhounds were keeping him from the gate. I swept the sidheblade in a deadly arc, and called on my tattoos.

  "You've been practicing." Gwen's voice was the hollow echo of the grave. Something besides my sister controlled her body.

  "I've been looking for you." I drove towards her with the sword, hoping she wouldn't notice the spell I was casting.

  Her laugh cut like razor blades."What a waste of your time. I never left the queens' side."

  "I'm sorry. I never thought she would use you like this."

  Gwen's laugh was not like razor blades this time. Wings of some insect I didn't know flapped around my face, riding the sound she made, cutting me even as I tried to brush them away. Blood trickled down my face. "You're sorry? I will hunt my daughters down for the queen's pleasure and you're sorry? You were supposed to protect them! Do you know what she'll do to them?"

  "No," I whispered, not so much to answer her question but in denial of what she had become, what the queen had done to her.

  "She thinks their blood will heal what's broken in Faerie. Morgan, why didn't you keep them away?" She lunged forward and I barely parried her stroke. I was doing a terrible job fighting her, because I didn't really want to. I couldn't have let Con fight her, because either losing would be awful, but I couldn't make myself truly try to hurt her, and whatever was compelling her had no such compunction about me. I flung the chain spell from the tattoo at my bicep at her. It wrapped her legs, but she only laughed. Her golden sword flashed and ripped through my spell like it was paper.

  "I can hide us." Javier's voice behind me sounded tight. If the hounds weren't pressing us it was only because they were waiting for their master's command. When she gave it, they would attack, I had no doubt.

  "Do it." Gwen was familiar with my spells, but maybe Javier could throw her off with an unfamiliar casting. I had to hope that on some level, she wanted us to win.

  He muttered something under his breath, and I sensed the broken and strange threads of underhill magic weaving into a human spell behind me. A fog sprang into being in front of me—a fog that I could see through, but which had Gwen stumbling.

  "Morgan?" Her voice was suddenly her own, lacking the hollow echo it had had a moment before.

  "Gwen!"

  Javier stepped forward, touched my shoulder, and shook his head pleadingly. I bit my lip—his spell had worked, and I had negated his work by calling out to her. He pulled me forward with his free hand—the other held a dull knife I didn't remember. We stumbled out of the shattered front door, into the sunshine.

  She staggered toward the sound of my voice. "Morgan?" She sounded so plaintive. I shook my head, denying the pull of her words. I wanted to go to her, to help her, but the compulsion would only let her attack me. I turned. Javier and I needed to get away while we could. The hounds whined and bayed beyond the fog.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Javier's spell, glinting bright silver in my spellsight. Wait, what? His spell was an intricate knot, energy bent in a familiar way I'd seen only one other person use before.

  My friend—my enemy who had betrayed everything we'd been taught twice over.

  My pulse sped, banging painfully under my skin like a broken drum. "Javier?"

  The glare he shot me for talking was more exasperated than angry.

  Almost against my will, I whispered, "Matthew?"

  Javier's eyes widened at the name—or so I thought.

  Pain ripped through my shoulder. I whipped around. Gwen stood there, sword bright in her hands, a grimace of mingled triumph and despair distorting her face. I clapped a hand to the wound. The blade had gone through the meat of my shoulder, not too deep, but enough to tear through the ouroboros knot that was my favorite well for energy. Gwen knew that.

  I stared at her in shocked disbelief as the sword flickered out again. Burning agony blossomed in my side.

  JAVIER

  Morgan doubled over in front of me. The Queen's Blade looked at her with an unreadable expression, and the hellhounds surged forward, nostrils flaring.

  There was no time to dwell on Morgan saying my father's name. I had knotted a few strands of the strange slippery energy of Faerie as the sisters fought, and now I finished two of them. Morgan's sister had her sword up. I tossed my crappy dagger at her, and then flung the knotted spells while she was parrying the knife away.

  She shouted and fell to her knees, blinded at least for a moment. I darted forward and slipped my shoulder underneath Morgan's unwounded side. "Can you stand?" I asked her.

  "I can run if I need to." The silver blade shrank into the unassuming bracelet, and she heaved herself up. Her side was dark and wet, and the metal-and-meat scent of blood filled my nostrils. I swallowed bile.

  Gwen said something in Faerie, her voice frantic and angry. The hellhounds bayed and surged forward around her, right for us. Morgan leaned heavily against me and drew a spell from a tattoo around her wrist—magic flickered around it in my spellsight. Energy wrapped around one of the hellhound's paws and it stumbled, letting out a incongruously high-pitched yelp. I finished another of my half-formed knots and threw it at another, which hobbled to a stop, questing blindly with its nose and whining.

  But that left three still coming after us, jaws gaping and flecked with slaver. They bayed triumphantly.

  Or two of them did. The third was—different. It was still a giant black dog with unnatural red eyes, but compared to the others it was...fluffier. The three of them closed on us. Morgan clutched at me and the blade at her wrist flashed into being again, this time longer and heavier, with a serrated edge. Beads of sweat popped out along her forehead and she paled as she braced for an attack. I pulled more energy into knots, frantically but precisely—there was no telling what might happen if I mis-tied them.

  The hounds were almost on us. I could feel the heat of their breath, smell the sulfur stench of them. Morgan tensed beside me.

  Then the fluffier one turned on its fellows. It barked frantically and its body shuddered wi
th the impact of the other two as they leaped into it.

  Morgan's blade didn't lower, but she dug in one of her pockets until she pulled out something which she pressed into my hands. It was a glass disc in shades of red and gold, marred by a smear of Morgan's blood. There was a light floating over it, not quite a reflection of the silver twisting all around us. Something else, its own. I turned to look at the dogs, and the light stayed constant. Ah.

  "This way." I pulled Morgan after me. The hounds snarled and bit at the air behind us, but Morgan walked backward, her silver blade sweeping the air, and they would not come close enough to risk its touch. The shuffling of our feet over gravel paths was interspersed with whines and growls.

  The gate wasn't far, thank God, only a few turns through the hedges away. Morgan's hand was bone-grindingly tight on mine as we walked and her side was almost black with flowing blood. Some of it had caked on my hand, and I had to chew on my tongue to keep from thinking too hard about her living blood drying on me. The scenery didn't help my stomach any. There were places where it looked like watercolor on glass—thin. Not real. Parts of it fragmented. Had they broken off? Where had they gone?

  "There," she gasped, and we staggered onto a side path through a break in the greenery. A doorway stood in front of us, silver and strong, and the light on the glass disc pointed straight to it. I wanted to collapse with relief, but I couldn't—not yet. Not until you know your friends are safe, part of me whispered. When had I started thinking of them as friends?

  "Hngh," came a noise from behind us, the whine of a frustrated animal. Morgan stiffened, and turned.

  Gwen stood, her arm looped over the lead hellhound. "You promised to protect them," she croaked. She didn't quite look straight at Morgan, I noted with a faint pulse of satisfaction. My spell still held.

  "I never expected to protect them from you," Morgan spat. The hellhounds were snuffling around enough. The fluffy one seemed to be missing.